


You Already Know How This Will End

by beanarie



Category: Warrior (2011)
Genre: Domestic Violence, Flashback, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-09-12
Updated: 2011-09-12
Packaged: 2017-10-23 16:50:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/252585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beanarie/pseuds/beanarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thing of it was, running away had started as Brendan's idea.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Already Know How This Will End

Mom's friend Jenny Kaplan rang their doorbell at six pm on a Thursday.

Brendan was up and ready to greet her immediately. Tommy hovered at the TV before joining him. He had this _thing_ for Steven Seagal. No one dared cast aspersions on it. His love was pure.

"Hey, guys," she said with a friendly smile, lifting two overstuffed plastic bags. "Mom asked me to get some groceries and things."

"She's sleeping," Brendan said automatically.

"Well, that's good. I'm sure she could use the rest." She eyed them both with mock suspicion. "I know if I got sick, my own boys would eat nothing but Cherry Coke and deep dish pizza. I'd get out of my cocoon and come downstairs to find them all fat and toothless."

Brendan laughed because it was expected and stepped back to let her inside.

"What'd you bring?" Tommy asked. He was a kid who knew his priorities, and small talk was not one of them.

Jenny smirked. "See for yourself."

He took the bags from her with a muttered thank you. His eyes lit up within three seconds of peering into the first one. "Eggs. Oh, hell yeah. These are mine."

Brendan made a face at Tommy's back for the swearing, but Jenny seemed more amused than anything.

"Paula asked for a dozen and a half, so that's what I got." She looked quickly at her watch, which seemed, to Brendan's eyes, kind of expensive. But old, like she spent more money on things that last. "What do you need so many eggs for, huh, kiddo?"

"I eat 'em," Tommy said, looking mystified that it was even a question.

Brendan thought about explaining that Tommy was trying to go to a higher weight class. In the end he decided that most women knew nothing about sports and especially wrestling and, being a mom on top of that, she was likely to be appalled and say they were letting Tommy wreck his metabolism for life.

They probably _were_ letting Tommy wreck his metabolism for life. Brendan made a mental note to ask his Anatomy  & Physiology teacher about it.

"So... When's Mom coming back to the office, guys? How's she doing?"

"I'm not sure, Miz Kaplan." Brendan said, purposefully not looking at Tommy, who took the bags and went into the kitchen. Seeking his brother's gaze before answering would have seemed shady, like they were confirming a story between them. "She doesn't really tell us about stuff like that, you know? All I know is she's really sick."

"Yeah," came Tommy's voice from the kitchen, "She's... yeah." Tommy had always been a shitty liar. He was the one who told the office that Mom had walking pneumonia instead of saying she’d gotten into a car accident. (“It was a car accident last time,” Tommy had protested. But still.) Brendan would have to tell him not to bother in the future.

"Well, the receipt's in the bag. Tell her she can pay me back as soon as she's back on her feet, okay?"

"Sure.” Brendan nodded and took a half-step toward the door. “Thanks so much, ma'am."

She glanced around the living room and up the stairs. "Dad's not around, huh?"

Tommy came back in. "Late shift on Thursdays," he said bluntly, and it sounded fine because it wasn't a lie. Of course, immediately after that, Pop would be at the Dark Horse or Johnny's, and he wouldn't be getting home until maybe two. Then he'd sleep it off for four hours, next to Mom with her broken rib and bruised tailbone, and everything would start all over again.

Brendan didn't even know what it had been about this time. He'd been out of the house. And getting Tommy to talk about it, well. He'd have more luck getting a river to start flowing in the other direction.

As he watched Jenny's car peal out of the driveway, Mom's moan traveled to them from upstairs.

"She's got water?" he asked.

"Yeah," Tommy answered through his teeth.

Brendan looked at the clock. He'd ditched sixth period to bring her lunch, which had been around one. Tommy had given her crackers and cream soda when he got home from practice at four.

"You make her sound like a pet," he continued. “Did you take Mom for her walk today, Tommy?”

Brendan rolled his eyes, suddenly, acutely unable to muster the patience not to. "Get your coat. We're gonna get something for her at the diner."

"We've got dinner shit now." Tommy didn't take his eyes off the TV screen.

"Oh, you feel like cooking it? Do you even know what to do with something you can't nuke in the microwave?" He knew his mother. She wouldn't have ordered processed foods like canned soup and TV dinners, stuff they could easily prepare for her. She would only have thought to ask for, like, vegetables and chicken filets, the ingredients she made into meals for them. He bumped his shoulder against Tommy's and got off the couch. "Come on."

At the diner, Brendan mostly swirled his straw around his Coke and watched as Tommy washed down a bacon double cheeseburger, chili fries, and onion rings with a vanilla milkshake. Tommy grinned like a little kid after letting out a burp that lasted a good four seconds. Brendan just shook his head. The grin didn't so much fade as cut out, as though someone had flipped a switch.

"If we told someone," Brendan began.

Tommy's eyes went hard. "That’s not fucking happening."

"I know." She didn't want pity from anyone. And she kept saying she loved Pop, it was her choice to stay, and no one had the right to take that away from her. "But if we did, we'd have help getting her away from him. There's a lot of stuff out there. Resources. I see commercials on TV."

Tommy took a long sip from his milkshake, his free hand curling around a dirty fork.

"Maybe we wouldn't even need help," Brendan continued. "I mean, she'd have us. That could work."

"So you're saying we'd just... go. Leave Pop," Tommy said. He pushed his plate a few inches closer to the middle of the table.

"That exactly, yeah." Several long seconds passed. The waitress came over to drop off a refill for Brendan's Coke, and Brendan waved her off. "Tommy?"

Tommy scratched at the table with a dirty fingernail. "He'll kill her if we let him." The quiet words sounded so certain Brendan felt an urgent need to know what had happened two nights before. "I... I think... yeah. I think we have to."

"Okay." Brendan breathed out, relieved. This wouldn’t happen immediately. They had to sock away some money, and wait for Mom to heal up. Maybe in the Spring they’d be ready.

Tommy stood, his face pale. "I feel sick," he announced. Then he ran into the restroom and lost everything he'd eaten.


End file.
